


You Can't Hold Back the Morning or Hide Away the Light

by Luka



Category: Primeval
Genre: Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Claudia and Ryan’s Christmas break in an idyllic Wiltshire cottage is disturbed by mysterious visitors.





	You Can't Hold Back the Morning or Hide Away the Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my rare forays into het! It was written for a Primeval Denial Secret Santa where the prompts were:  
> 1\. Candles at Christmas.  
> 2\. Anomaly teams from the past.  
> 3\. TS Eliot's poem The Hollow Men.  
> 4\. The Roof of the World.
> 
> Thank you to the lovely Rain_sleet_snow for a thorough editing job and for some very cunning suggestions that got me out of a hole. Stringer belongs to Fredbassett, Matt Rees is Telperion_15's, Bigtitch rescued Ross Jenkins, and Adey and Don Tait are mine.

“This is pretty.” Claudia dropped her case and surveyed the bedroom. It was about the size of her living room at home, and boasted an immense double bed, a large sofa and – good grief – a real fire. It was almost dark outside, but she knew the cottage overlooked the stone circle, which had towered above them as they’d driven into Avebury.

Ryan nodded and set his bag down on an elegant chaise longue by the window. He proceeded to glance out of the window and then check out the room and the adjoining en-suite bathroom, which housed a claw-footed bath that would undoubtedly take both of them at the same time. Claudia never made fun of Ryan when he scoped out a new place – it was a side-effect of his job and had kept them alive often enough.

Claudia opened her case and began to hang her clothes in a wardrobe the size of a Tardis. They were here for the long weekend – Christmas Day was a Saturday this year – and Claudia had packed for hearty walks as well as festive celebrations and lounging in front of log fires. She smiled as she unpacked the pretty lingerie that Ryan seemed to enjoy buying for her. That would do very well for the latter activity. 

The cottage was an absolute gem. It belonged to an aunt of Suki, her best friend from university, and you had to have unimpeachable references to stay there at any time of the year, let alone Christmas. The fact that the aunt was a Foreign Office high-flyer and a good friend of James Lester had swung the deal.

Ryan went to finish unpacking the car, so Claudia took the opportunity to explore the cottage. Upstairs comprised three bedrooms – the third more like a box room – and a family bathroom. Downstairs was a cosy farmhouse-style kitchen with an Aga, and a large living room with an open fire and window seats. A small study led off at one end, and a utility room with washing machine and tumble-dryer adjoined the kitchen.

Claudia filled the kettle and set it on top of the warm Aga. A quick check of the fridge had revealed milk, butter, a block of cheese and half a dozen eggs. There was a large crusty white loaf in the breadbin and a fruitcake in a tin on the kitchen table that would have fed half the anomaly project. They’d arrived to a warm house, with the fire lit and a candle flickering prettily in the living room window. Claudia had been charmed, even if Ryan had muttered darkly about fire risks. She knew from Suki that Mrs Briggs, a woman in the village, ‘did’ for Aunt Melissa, and she appreciated the welcoming touches.

Ryan appeared, flakes of snow melting in his short-cropped hair. It had been threatening to snow all the way from London, and Ryan had observed somewhere around Newbury that it was bound to be a white Christmas at home, given Lester and Lyle had gone skiing in Switzerland over the festive period.

He dumped a large box of food that they’d brought from home on the kitchen table and they unpacked it swiftly. 

“There’s enough food here to feed the regiment,” said Ryan, hoisting the turkey into the fridge.

“My family motto should be ‘never knowingly under-catered’,” said Claudia placidly, putting a bottle of bubbly and two bottles of white wine into the fridge to chill. Neither of them were big drinkers, but there had been an unspoken acknowledgement that it would be a civilised way of celebrating both their first Christmas together and having four days down-time.

Claudia found the shepherd’s pie that she’d brought from the freezer at home, and put it in the Aga to heat through. Ryan rapidly chopped some carrots and broccoli to serve with it, then set the table, uncorking a bottle of red wine to allow it to breathe. They’d got the wordless teamwork down to a fine art – one of the many reasons why Claudia adored Ryan. He always seemed to know just what needed doing, and got on with it, with no drama.

They adjourned to the living room with mugs of tea and sat on the immense leather sofa, warming their feet in front of the fire. Ryan slipped his arm around her waist. He wasn’t the most demonstrative of men, but he never failed to make her feel comfortable and safe in his presence.

“So what do you fancy doing after we’ve eaten? Improving conversation? Reading? Playing cribbage in the pub? Communing with the stones?”

Claudia giggled. “I bet they don’t.”

“Bet they don’t what?”

“Play cribbage in the pub. It’ll be full of hippies and druids, all of them mad as a box of frogs and reeking of incense.”

“You’ve been here before,” observed Ryan.

“I have. A French penfriend wanted to visit. Suffice it to say she never came to England again. But that might have had more to do with the fact that my mother insisted she had a bath every day and got up before noon and helped with the washing-up and wasn’t allowed to consort with a slimy creep called Pierre who was staying with the family across the road …”

“Runs a tight ship, your mother.”

“Oh yes,” said Claudia with feeling. “If my mother ran the British army, you’d all have boots that fitted and cordon bleu food rations.”

“A woman after my own heart …”

“Speaking of which …” Claudia got up to check the shepherd’s pie. 

Ryan followed her out and without being asked put the vegetables on to boil and set two places at the large pine table. And once they’d eaten, he washed up as well.

They agreed they’d brave the pub for a quick drink, and then have an early night. Claudia pulled on her red woollen coat and matching beret, and looked around for her handbag, which was on the sofa. Ryan handed it to her, put on his overcoat and reached out to snuff out the candle.

“Can’t have the place burning down while we’re out in the fleshpots of Avebury.”

Claudia rolled her eyes and led the way down the main street through the gently-falling snow.

~*~*~*

Ryan opened his eyes. It sounded like a small plane was struggling to clear the village. He frowned. As far as he knew, most of the airfields around here had shut years ago, so he’d got no idea where the hell it was making for. Ryan glanced at his watch – 4.12am – and slid out of bed without waking Claudia. Outside it was pitch-black and quiet as the grave. 

He was about to get back into bed when a movement from outside caught his eye. A small group of people was trudging down the main street, caught briefly in the light of a fading torch, before they disappeared towards the big house in the village. 

Ryan snorted and tweaked the heavy velvet curtain back into position before easing back into bed. Must have been one hell of a weird dream. That’d teach him to overdo the cheese board at the village pub so close to bedtime. 

~*~*~*

Claudia opened one eye experimentally, counted to ten and opened the other. She had a trace of a headache, thanks to a third glass of red wine in the pub. At least the very good bread and cheese they’d been prevailed on to try by the landlord had soaked up most of the alcohol. And a group of German druids banging on about the winter solstice had provided a sideshow.

She sat up and luxuriated in the warmth of the bedroom. The fire was burning merrily and it was a world away from her rather chilly flat.

The bedroom door opened and Ryan appeared carrying a tray. Claudia’s nose twitched. Fresh coffee and bacon rolls – perfect! The first weekend they’d ever spent together, Claudia had laughed her head off at the look on Ryan’s face when she’d prepared bacon sarnies oozing with ketchup for Sunday breakfast. Whereas he trained relentlessly to keep his fitness levels somewhere around super-human, Claudia ate sensibly during the week so she could enjoy her indulgences at the weekends.

They polished off the rolls and lay back against the mountain of pillows, sipping coffee and discussing their plans for the day. They decided on a morning walk up to Windmill Hill causewayed enclosure, and then lunch and a wander around Marlborough. Claudia had noticed last night that the village pub was serving mince pies and mulled wine that evening, with carols being sung around the open fire before midnight mass in the church. She wasn’t particularly religious, and she knew Ryan certainly wasn’t, but he’d nodded indulgently when she’d suggested they went along.

While Ryan was showering, Claudia perched on the window seat and gazed out over the village. It had snowed in the night, and had settled several inches deep on roofs and walls and verges. There was more forecast for that evening and it looked like being a white Christmas for sure – the first one for years. Claudia smiled happily and tried to feel even a trace of guilt that she and Ryan had got the festive period off, as had Nick and Stephen, who’d last been spotted heading for the wilds of Scotland, while Stringer, Connor and Abby were on call. She failed.

~*~*~*

“Tea and toast! Now!” said Claudia imperiously, pushing the front door open and kicking off her boots. 

She hung her coat up and shook flakes of snow out of her hair. Ryan thought how gorgeous she looked, the picture of health with flushed cheeks and pink lips.

He went through to the kitchen and picked up the cast-iron kettle off the Aga ready to fill it from the tap. Except, it was half-full and hot. He set it down abruptly and spun around. A trail of damp footprints ran across the kitchen and into the utility room. Ryan looked around him and picked up a large carving knife. Then he flung the door back, immediately moving out of the line of fire. A shriek split the air. Ryan dived into the room and grabbed at the nearest shape, arm instinctively tightening around a skinny neck, knife pressed against the chilled skin.

“Don’t shoot!” The voice from inside the utility room was female and authoritative.

“Put your weapons down and come out with your hands up.”

Two pistols were slid across the floor. Claudia, who’d appeared swiftly and sized up the situation, grabbed them and slipped one into a capacious jacket pocket, keeping the other cocked and poised. 

“Official Secrets Act,” snapped the older woman, who was dressed in drab but serviceable clothes. She looked to be about 30 – not pretty, but very striking with dark hair and strong features.

Ryan sighed. “I think you’ll find our security clearance outranks yours by quite some way. So start talking now. For one thing, where did you get these guns from?”

“Home Office standard issue.”

“About 60 years ago …” It looked like a Webley Mk IV to him.

“Don’t be facetious, young man. And I take a very dim view of two undercover units operating in the same place at the same time.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. He was probably older than her by five or six years. “Ma’am, I’m an army captain and my girlfriend is a senior civil servant. We are not undercover. We are celebrating Christmas downtime. So perhaps you’d kindly tell us who you are. Either that, or I’m phoning Sir James Lester at the Home Office and you can explain to him.”

“I am Dr Verity Ambrose, an archaeologist from the University of Cambridge. These are two of my PhD students, Ethan Dobrowski and Emily Merchant. We are conducting enquiries on behalf of the Ministry of Defence in Avebury. And this is where we have been billeted. So I have no idea whatsoever what you think you’re doing here.”

“You were not in this house when we arrived yesterday.”

“We arrived last night.”

“You did not.”

“Are you calling me a liar, Captain?”

“I’m merely saying you were not in this house last night.”

She looked at him triumphantly. “Our arrival was delayed and we didn’t want to inconvenience our hosts. So we spent last night in the church.”

“Did the plane crash-land?” snapped Ryan.

“No, but we …” She pulled up short, glaring at him, clearly livid at having been tricked.

Claudia was staring at him as well, and Ryan said: “I was woken up at about 4am by what sounded like a light aircraft overhead. Then I saw some people trudging down the main street. So what happened, Dr Ambrose? Did you bail out?”

She sighed. “Yes. Our pilot knew we wouldn’t make Yatesbury, so ordered us to bail out. We hid the parachutes in an old shed.”

“So where’s the pilot?”

Dr Ambrose shrugged. “I hope she managed to bring the plane down safely. Jessica Parker is an experienced pilot.”

“WAAF?”

“No. ATA.”

That explained a lot, thought Ryan. He was no expert on the RAF in any form, but he knew women hadn’t flown in the WAAF during the war, although he had a vague idea they’d worked on barrage balloons. But the civilian Air Transport Auxiliary had used women pilots for flying service personnel around, delivering damaged planes for repair and carrying out air ambulance work.

Ryan went upstairs and phoned Stringer, who was on call.

“Fuck off,” was his fellow captain’s opening gambit.

“And festering greetings to you too.”

“Make it quick. I’m about to fleece the lads at cards.”

“Any anomaly activity last night or today?”

“Nope. And stop tempting fate.”

“In that case, good luck with finding out from Geek Boy why a World War II plane came through an anomaly in Avebury last night.”

“Ryan, whatever you’ve been drinking, take more fucking water with it.”

“I should be so fucking lucky …”

Stringer cursed luridly and could be heard ordering one of the lads to pass him a laptop.

Ryan pulled out one of his Ordnance Survey maps. Avebury and the village of Yatesbury were about four and a half miles apart. That was a quick drive when the roads were clear, but even though he was sure the pilot would have followed the line of the main road, she’d be unlikely to put the plane down anywhere but the airfield unless she had to. And if she’d crashed, the plane could be anywhere. In normal conditions, he’d expect to do the cross-country yomp in about 45 minutes. But the snow was coming down faster now.

“I assume the air base is long gone,” said Stringer, breaking into Ryan’s thoughts.

“I think there are still buildings and an air strip there, but that’s it.”

Stringer sighed. “OK, we’re on our way. I doubt we’ll get a helicopter up in this shitty weather, so it’ll be a lousy fucking trawl by road. See you somewhere around bloody Easter …”

*~*~*~

Ryan gave thanks yet again to a deity he didn’t believe in that he’d invested in a four-wheel drive. It had been worth its weight in gold for hauling soldiers and mountain bikes and canoes around Herefordshire, but it was invaluable now in a snowstorm on the Wiltshire Downs. He eased the vehicle down onto the A4, windscreen wipers going double speed to try to keep the glass clear of snow. There was surprisingly little traffic about, given it was Christmas Eve – maybe the Wiltshire public had taken heed of police advice to stay off the roads if their journey wasn’t necessary.

He glanced at his mobile phone in its hands-free nest. Claudia and Dr Ambrose had been most unhappy about being left behind, but he knew they’d slow him down. Ryan acknowledged that taking Dr Ambrose would have made sense given she would be able to reassure the pilot, but he wasn’t keen to leave Claudia alone with the two students, despite the fact she had one of the guns. There was something odd about the pair of them, but he wasn’t sure what.

The village of Yatesbury was off the A4. Pin-pricks of light spilled from behind curtains or porches. One window sported a Christmas tree. Ryan pulled the vehicle up to the gates of the old airbase. He’d checked his vague memory before leaving and discovered that there were still buildings and an airstrip on the site, and that plans to develop it for housing seemed to be going nowhere very fast.

Ryan grabbed a flashlight and boltcutters from the boot and made short work of the padlock on the gates. He’d be a bit bloody unlucky to be caught breaking and entering on Christmas Eve; he’d just have to rely on Lester to extricate him from any trouble. Except, his name would be mud if he interrupted Lester and Lyle’s skiing holiday …

The snow was coming down harder now. Ryan had decided he’d have an initial scout around the site to see if he could find the pilot and the plane. If not, he’d have to wait for the rest of lads to arrive – and probably for daylight as well – to search wider between Avebury and Yatesbury. He knew bloody well, though, that the chances of an injured woman surviving out on the Downs in freezing temperatures, given how long she’d been out there, were zero to non-existent.

All the remaining buildings had heavy-duty padlocks on the huge double doors, and it was apparent that nothing had got in or out of them for some time. Ryan continued his patrol around the perimeter fence, knowing that unless he stumbled over something by chance, visibility was so poor that he was unlikely to see it. They’d only be able to check the main part of the airfield when more manpower was available and they could comb it methodically – or as much as the conditions would allow. By then, though, it would be too late for the woman.

Ryan trudged back to the vehicle and poured a cup of coffee from the thermos Claudia had insisted he take with him. He checked his mobile; the reception wasn’t great, but there were two text messages. The first, from Stringer, was expletive-laden and Ryan gathered they were just past Reading and still about an hour away at least. Claudia’s was a single question mark.

He sat back and considered the options. There was no point going back to the cottage, but he knew that any searching he did would of necessity be random. But he hated the thought of sitting and waiting if there was the slightest chance that the woman was alive. What would he have done in her position? If she’d been able to bale out before the plane crashed, or to land it, she’d surely have looked for shelter. As far as he could see, there was nowhere on the base she could have got into without a crowbar. So that left few other options. Ryan had a vague memory of there being racehorse stables up on the Downs, but he was also sure they’d be alarmed up the wazoo. Worth checking for sure, but not a priority. It made far more sense to check sheds and garages in the village.

Ryan grabbed the map and shone his torch on an area he’d already committed to memory. He was pretty sure the pilot would have tried to follow the line of the A4 before veering off towards the airfield. Yatesbury itself wasn’t huge, and he was sure anyone seeing a plane coming down would have alerted the authorities. Which suggested he should start at the edge …

The population of Yatesbury seemed pretty blasé about security, judging from the number of garages and sheds that were unlocked. He was on the fourth or fifth house when he spotted small footprints across a back lawn and heading towards a small shed.

Inside, it smelled of wood and loam and oil. He almost missed the tiny body under the huge pile of sacking. But a low moan sent him to his knees, scrabbling beneath the rough layers that could well have saved the woman’s life. Ryan shone his torch and saw an impossibly young face leached of all colour. She opened her eyes and recoiled.

“It’s OK, miss. Miss Parker … I’m Captain Tom Ryan. Dr Ambrose sent me.”

“Is she …?”

“She’s fine. We need to get you out of here. Do you think anything is broken?”

“No … I … I just hit my head when I …”

“OK. Let’s get you in the warm.”

She was a tiny slip of a thing, swamped by a huge flying jacket, and weighed next to nothing. Ryan carried her back to the car and wrapped her in a survival blanket on the back seat, piling an old sleeping bag on top of her. He then turned the car heater onto full blast and set off back to the cottage.

*~*~*~

“Shouldn’t she be in hospital?” Claudia stared worriedly at the semi-conscious woman swathed in duvets on the sofa.

Ryan shrugged. “It’s Christmas Eve and the nearest hospital is Swindon. Stringer and Co should be here soon, so Matt Rees can take a look at her and decide. I suspect she’s concussed and suffering from a night in a garden shed.”

A hammering on the door, accompanied by cussing as Stringer banged his head on a low beam, heralded the arrival of the SF contingent. Rees went straight through to the living room with a snappy, worried Dr Ambrose in attendance. She’d already tutted loudly at Stringer’s effing and blinding. Adey and Ross Jenkins stood awkwardly in the hall and generally got in the way. Claudia sighed and went to put the kettle on.

“Where are the others?” asked Ryan.

“Parked at the end of the village until we decide what the fuck to do,” said Stringer.

“Find the plane and get it and its attendant cast back through an anomaly.”

“Any one in particular?”

Ryan rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. 

Stringer muttered a vague insult about Ryan and his parentage, but for once his heart didn’t seem to be in it. “Do we know where the plane came down and what shape it’s in?”

“No. We need to start looking on the A4 side of the village, though, as that’s where I found her. I reckon the plane came down not that far from the main road.”

“OK, first light we get up there.”

“Did Connor have any idea why an anomaly didn’t show up last night?”

“I tuned out after about ten minutes, but it appeared to be something to do with Avebury, ley lines, weird shit and aliens. He wanted to come with us, but he’d be about as much use as a fucking chocolate teapot in this weather.”

Rees appeared, zipping up his backpack. “Boss, sir … I think she’ll be fine. She’s concussed, but you got her before hypothermia set in and she’d had the nous to find shelter. Warm her up gradually and we’ll see how she is in the morning. But she’s not keen to go to hospital, and there’d be a load of questions we couldn’t answer.”

“Fair enough,” said Stringer.

“I’ll see if Miss Brown can find some hot water bottles. We’ll fill those and get some hot, sweet tea down her as well.”

“Boss, it’s stopped snowing.” Adey stuck his head around the door.

Ryan looked at his watch. Almost 5am. 

Stringer saw the gesture and grimaced. “And a merry fucking Christmas to you as well. We might as well make a start, then. We can do without the great and good of Yatesbury finding a load of hairy-arsed soldiers yomping through their back gardens when they’re watching Liz and Phil the Greek doing the ‘my husband and I’ routine on TV.”

“Get that tea down you first and I’ll see if the lass has any idea where the plane came down.”

“Keep up with the sodding plot, Ryan. Rees has already asked her. And no, you’re not coming. You think I’m going to risk Miss Brown’s wrath by whisking you off when you’re on downtime? Now fuck off and stuff your turkey.”

In the kitchen, Claudia was explaining to an edgy Dr Ambrose that they were all staying where they were and that the soldiers would have a better chance of locating the plane without them slowing them down. And anyway, there was Christmas lunch to prepare for six and the tradition was that everyone mucked in. 

Ryan suppressed a rueful smile. Ah well, there went Boxing Day bubble and squeak leftovers.

*~*~*~

The smell of roasting turkey and potatoes pervaded the house. Claudia had marshalled the troops to perfection and got the visitors chopping and peeling. Emily, the young student, had confided to her that her mother had taught her to cook so she’d find a good husband, while Ethan had said nothing, but had prepared the vegetables quickly and efficiently. There was something about him that made her feel uncomfortable, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

Two glasses of sweet sherry (meant for the trifle) and Dr Ambrose lightened up considerably. She had consented to lay the table, but Claudia suspected she was used to people fetching and carrying for her.

“So, Captain Ryan, Miss Brown … How long have you known of the existence of the time portals?”

They looked at each other and Ryan said carefully: “They’re currently the focus of a top-secret government project.”

“With the military involved.”

Ryan inclined his head fractionally. “It’s very early days for us.”

Dr Ambrose smiled wolfishly and for a split second Claudia wondered where she’d seen her before. “So no doubt this means my findings will have been hushed up.”

“They’re probably in some top-secret vault at the Home Office.”

“So I may assume that Germany did not win the war and that some crackpot civil servant’s idea of evacuating important people through the portals should the war go against us came to naught?”

Ryan hesitated, then nodded. “The war finally ended in 1945 with the allies victorious. Which year have you come from?”

“1943.”

“How long have you been investigating the anomalies, as we call them?”

“Just a couple of months,” admitted Dr Ambrose. “I had an odd experience on an archaeological dig near Cambridge when I found myself back in what looked like the Cretaceous. None of my colleagues seemed aware of what had happened, and I thought if I mentioned it that they’d assume I had sunstroke. It’s hard enough being a woman at Cambridge as it is … Anyway, when it happened again, this time going back even earlier, I didn’t know what to do. I mentioned it to a civil servant chum who I’d trust with my life. Next thing I know, I have some research money and two students to help me investigate. Turns out I’m not the only person to discover them …”

“But you’d benefit from help for your career.”

Dr Ambrose smiled unwillingly. “Just so.”

“Why a night-time flight to Avebury in the depths of winter?”

“We’d had reports of a portal opening and closing in the area. And if you think about it, it’s an ideal time to investigate with people’s mind on other matters.”

“Christmas and the war.”

“Precisely.”

“But you weren’t banking on going through an anomaly so dramatically?”

She sighed. “Of course not, captain. Our brief was to investigate and then report back. The weather worsened and then the plane developed a fault. It was due to the skill of Miss Parker that we all survived.”

Claudia topped their glasses up and went to investigate the turkey and potatoes. They’d be ready in about half an hour, so she put water on to boil for the vegetables and poured the gravy into a pan to heat up.

“May I help you, Miss Brown?” Emily had followed her through to the kitchen.

“If you could just empty the cranberry sauce into a saucepan. Yes, the purple jelly-like stuff. And do call me Claudia.”

“Thank you.” Emily stirred obediently and reached out to stop the brussels sprouts from boiling over. 

“This must be a thoroughly bizarre adventure for you.”

Emily nodded. “My parents think I’m spending Christmas with some friends.”

“New friends,” said Claudia, and smiled at the girl.

Emily smiled back and seemed about to say something, when Ryan barged in, barking into his phone. Tactfully, she withdrew from the room. He terminated the call and sighed.

“Joel Stringer?”

“Yep. They’ve found the plane. They’re now trying to work out whether it can be patched up to get our friends back through the anomaly once it reopens.”

“Good luck with finding an aircraft engineer on Christmas Day …”

“That’s the least of our problems. They’ve got a team on the way from near Salisbury.” Ryan filled a glass of water from the cold tap and downed it in one.

“And if it can’t be repaired?”

“They go back on foot.”

Claudia kissed the end of his nose and turned off the vegetables. “Could be a long walk. So let’s get a decent meal down them to keep their strength up.”

~*~*~*

Ryan had eaten Christmas dinner in some bizarre parts of the world, but he reckoned this one probably counted pretty high on the weird stakes. Their visitors, clearly in the midst of wartime rationing, devoured everything that was put in front of them. And they were too busy eating to worry about making polite conversation.

Something was niggling him about the visitors, particularly Dr Ambrose, but he was damned if he knew what it was. And from the glances Claudia had been giving Ethan, he’d guessed she was uneasy too.

They’d retired to the lounge and Ryan was passing round cups of tea when there was a hammering on the front door. It was Adey.

“Boss, they’ve got the plane up and going again. And Geek Boy’s just phoned and reckoned there’s some weird sonic interference around Avebury.”

“OK, let me get the visitors moving.”

Adey raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment when Ryan ushered Dr Ambrose and the others into the back of the people carrier, and then got into the front himself.”

“Is the girl going to be OK to fly the plane back?”

“She’ll have to be,” said Ryan briefly. 

Jessica Parker, as she’d introduced herself when she was compos mentis again, seemed a tough little cookie to him, despite looking about 12. She’d slept for a couple of hours under a mountain of duvets and blankets, then eaten toast and drunk more tea at about 9am. She’d also tucked into her Christmas dinner with enthusiasm and had chatted to Ryan about how she’d come to be a pilot – her father was a flying instructor and had taught both her and her brother how to fly planes. The three of them all flew for the ATA.

Adey bounced the vehicle up a narrow lane off the A4. There were several other vehicles there and a knot of black-clad soldiers surrounding a plane. Stringer broke off from the throng and came over to meet them.

“So they’ve got it going again?” asked Ryan.

“Yep. Bit fucking impressive. Sounds like the lass coasted it down, which saved too much damage. The lads have done well.” He indicated three unfamiliar figures who were busy packing gear into a four-wheel drive.

“We owe them a pint or two.”

“Certainly fucking do. The only thing they couldn’t do was refuel it, so the visitors had better hope they’re close to their destination when they get to the other side. Now, Geek Boy seems confident something’s going to happen around the stones. So I reckon best we can do is get them ready to go. I’ll send most of the lads back to the village with you and they can give us the nod when the sodding thing opens.”

Ryan waited as Stringer nominated Fiver and Jacko to stay with him, while the others piled into the vehicles to go back to Avebury. 

“Where did Connor say this weird activity is?”

“Edge of the village, looking over towards Silbury Hill.”

“Makes sense.” Ryan could imagine the plane coasting down that long avenue.

“We’ll have one vehicle in the A4 lay-by near the hill and the other in the village. With a bit of luck we’ll get them through before too many people spot what’s going on and think they’ve overdone the pissing cooking sherry.”

“Locals here all have slopey foreheads. They’re probably used to weird shit.”

“Don’t you fucking start!”

Ryan grinned and clambered back into the vehicle with Adey, Rees and Jenkins. They were taking the village end, while Don Tait was in charge of the Silbury Hill observation.

“Oh, Geek Boy found out some interesting stuff. I got him going back through records. He can’t find any immediate sign of the two students or the pilot, but a Dr Verity Ambrose is still alive.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yep. She’s pretty ancient, has got dementia and lives in a care home near Cambridge. And she’s Helen fucking Cutter’s aunt.”

~*~*~*

Snow was falling again, but much lighter than overnight. Adey pulled the vehicle into the main street and they dodged across the main road and on to the top of the ridge. And there was the anomaly – halfway between them and Silbury Hill. They ran towards it, their boots crunching in the snow. Ryan nodded to Adey and they sprang through, feeling the familiar electrical pull. The other side seemed a carbon copy of where they were, albeit much darker.

They returned to the other side and Ryan called Stringer and reeled off the grid reference. “We’ve had a quick look through and have got to assume it’s the one we want.”

“We don’t have a lot of choice. Stand by – they’re taking off now.”

Within five minutes, the plane appeared from over the stones and banked left sharply. It dipped its wings in salute and disappeared through the ball of light. Fifteen minutes later, the anomaly closed.

~*~*~*

Inside the cottage, Claudia helped herself to another glass of wine and a mince pie, and surveyed the remains of the Christmas lunch. She heard the sound of a plane low overhead. On the windowsill, the candle flickered, sputtered and died.


End file.
